#tony is a sap

[ask-sketch-and-pals]

[corazondebeskar]

sorry if this sounds like a silly excuse but I cannot send out those like loving chain letter messages because every time I think about doing it my anxiety says someone will feel left out and it makes me nauseous

pls just know that I love you all and want you to be happy

[tony-andonuts]

Yall please know that when im inactive im usually just at work and/or fantasising about faggotry

[pandagirl45]

Tony: *dancing while cooking*

Bucky: *staring*

Tony: *look over his shoulder* soldier

Bucky: you are going to make lose my mind you know

Tony: *laughs dancing over to him* yeah, you knew what you were signing up for

Bucky: *snorts twirling him* I read the fine print and everything

[buckyalpine]

Hello Shay ! I’ve been loving the civilian!reader fics, and I had an idea for a fic like that, but with a twist 🫣 reader is bucky’s sweet civilian gf, literal definition of sunshine, basically a lover, not a fighter. She’s a ballet teacher at a local studio (hint hint wink wink). And she lives with him and the team at the tower. One night, while the team is out on a mission, Hydra ambushes the tower and tries to take the reader hostage. And when they learn about it, they rush back home in order to save her. Meanwhile, Bucky and Tony check the footage just to see his precious sweet girl absolutely kicking ass. And I mean hardcore, like she even does the entire widow thigh-neck move. And everyone is like??? And Bucky’s just absolutely fucking HORNY bc “hell I’ve been in between those thighs so many times, you’re telling me I could’ve DIED???”

okay YESSSSS we live for a badass gf who appears to be nothing but sweet sunshine and killer on the inside. Fluffy fluffy and smutty smutty

-

"Be back soon, darling" Bucky cooed, kissing you again and again while everyone boarded the jet, getting in a few more pecks before having to leave on a mission.

"C'mon lover boy, the faster we get going, the faster you get back to your sweetheart!" Tony yelled, shaking his head watching Bucky look a you with puppy eyes, not wanting to leave his sunshine behind. "He's so down bad, I swear"

"Can you blame him, she's so cute" Sam smiled, watching the two of you cling onto each other for a few extra seconds, your form hidden, engulphed in Bucky's thick arms. "Look, you can't even see her when tin man hugs her"

"I'll miss you baby" you kissed Bucky's pouty lips, caressing his scruffy cheek before letting him run off, your cheeks heating up when he blew you another kiss before the doors closed.

"You're a little sap" Nat teased while Bucky blushed, strapping on his gear as the engine roared to life, rumbling as they took off. Bucky had 0 shame in everyone knowing how much he loved you and it started from the day he met you. He got called out immediately, questioned over the dopey smile he had on his face, the blush on his cheeks instantly giving him away.

Soon after you'd started dating, Bucky wanted you closer to him and he didn't have to ask Tony twice; his room was moved to a floor above so you'd have more space to live together. The last thing Bucky wanted was for you to get hurt because of his job. He felt more relaxed knowing you were in he safety of the compound on days where he was away.

"Who would've thought Bucky would be the romantic type"

"I did" Steve groaned, having seen Bucky's flirty side for years but he knew this was different. He hadn't seen his bestfriend like this before, clearly in utterly and desperately in love with you.

"It's adorable" Sam laughed while Bucky continued to smile, scrolling through his phone looking at pictures of you. His camera rolled was filled with various images of you baking, cuddling, sleeping, doing the most mundane things in the world, each making his heart flutter. He felt a pang in his chest, momentarily worried about if you were safe without him, the same anxiety he always felt whenever he had to leave you.

-

You stretched across the sofa, sipping on some hot chocolate and putting on your favorite comfort movie, deciding to have a relaxing night to yourself since the compound was empty. You didn't like when Bucky had to leave but you knew it was part of his job, slipping the fuzzy throw blanket over you shoulders before hitting play.

It had hardly been a few minutes before the screen went black making you blink, wondering if you'd sat on the remote by accident. Suddenly the rest of the lights turned off, a blasting sound coming from the entrance before you heard rushed footsteps nearing you.

Your heart started to race, having no time to hide or think, coming face to face with a number of masked men all towering over you. One grabbed you, pulling out a camera and hitting record, shoving it close to your face with a sinister smile.

"Look who we have, soldat"

-

The jet hadn't been flying for long, a sudden beeping alarm from the security system alerting Tony to check the cameras. His eyes grew wide, seeing the Hydra logo take over the screen before switching the live footage from the hacked system.

"Guys! There's been an attack on the compound!" Tony shouted from the computer, everyone rushing to see what came on screen, billows of smoke emitting from the main wing. Suddenly the screen went black, replaced with a man swearing a black mask, walking around the common room.

"Welcome Mr. Stark" His voice was thick with a Russian accent, the video panning to show the other agents infiltrating the tower. "Where is our soldat"

"You stay the fuck away from my girl" Bucky growled, his heart hammering in his chest, nearly crying when he saw someone grab you and shove you into a chair.

"She's precious to you, isn't she. We'll see you soon" he laughed, before the stream cut off leaving Bucky wanting to scream in frustrating, anxiety clouding all his thoughts, just wanting to get back to you to protect you.

"We have to go help her!" Bucky paced up and down while Tony rerouted the jet, speeding back to save you. "How the fuck do I know what's going on, there has to be something" He pleaded, hating that he no longer had eyes on you.

"Hold on, let me get into the back up feed" Tony tapped away at different keys, getting into the security system, selecting the camera for the common room where you were being held. "Here, I got it! I-Holy shit..."

The sound of screaming screeched through the speaker but it wasn't coming from you.

No.

"B-Barnes, you're girl just killed someone with her thighs" Tony stared at the footage with wide eyes while Bucky and the others watching in awe as your legs wrapped around one of the agents' heads, snapping his neck before flipping over and attacking another one of your assailants.

Bucky nearly choked, watching the men drop to the floor like flies, your arms and legs holding onto the men with a vice like grip until they fell, hardly breaking a sweat each time.

"Do you understand how many time's I've been in between those thighs, you're telling me she could've killed me?!!" Bucky practically moaned, seeing you fight, all his anxiety melting into lust, his cock straining against the thick material of his tac suit.

"Jesus Bucky, you're gonna poke an eye out" Sam's face scrunched up while Bucky adjusted himself, biting his lip to keep from making a sound, his tip leaking, breathing out a sigh of relief seeing you perfectly safe.

"Can't help me, look at her. Better count me out for movie night, m'gonna spent the whole night fuckin'-

"Okay, got it, you're a ridiculous, horny, pervert, and y/n probably won't walk for a week, will you please put that away" Sam shook his head, walking away when he tent in Bucky's pants got worse.

"I'm sorry, we've been housing a Hydra killer all this time?" Tony shook his head as the jet landed, still in disbelief over what everyone had just seen, both impressed and 100% scared of what else you were capable of. "You sure know how to pick em' Barnes"

As soon as the jet hit the floor, Bucky was sprinting off into he compound, running to find you, relief flooding his veins when he saw you sipping on your tea, seated on the couch again. You jumped up from your spot, jumping into your boyfriends arms, clinging onto him while the others also entered, glad to see you were okay. They got to work, clearing up the room, rounding up the few agents that were knocked out for questioning while also giving you and Bucky some privacy.

"Babygirl" Bucky hugged you tightly in his arms, burying his face into your neck, inhaling your soft scent, hoisting you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. "Are you okay doll, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine Bucky" you reassured him, pecking his soft lips, letting him check you over before feeling satisfied you were okay, not finding a scratch on your body.

"Everything okay Buck?" you cocked your head noticing your boyfriends shift in demeanor, his soft baby blue eyes darkening into something else, biting his lip.

"Baby, I had to hold back from pulling my cock out on the jet and touching myself, you know how much that hurt? How hard I was the entire time, struggling not to jet my dick off watching how sexy you looked" He walked you up to your shared bedroom, his erection shamelessly pushing against your clothed core, not bothering to hide it one bit. "Where have you been hiding all that princess"

"Not hiding Bucky, just-never needed to do that" You shrugged shyly, squeezing your thigs around his waist playfully, making him groan as he dropped you on the bed.

"Can't wait to keep my face between these pretty legs that could kill me" He groaned, slicing your clothes off with his pocket knife before diving in without a care in the world, eating you like a man starved, tapping your thighs to wrap around his head.

"C'mon doll, squeeze em'" he moaned, humping against the bed feeling your muscles flex, his eyes rolling back, nearly cumming against the mattress at the strength he could feel, knowing you were holding back from hurting him.

you could kill him if you want.

Fuck, he was going to cum so fast.

-

"Oh god! Bucky!! PLease! D-DOn't STOP"

"That's it gorgeous, so good to me, so fuckin' pretty. won't last baby, gonna cum for you!"

"They're going at it like rabbits, didn't you sound proof their room after the first incident?"

"I did. This is after the sound proofing"

"Gonna fuck your thighs next baby, you got my cock so hard, almost creamed my pants like a teenager watching, you, oh shit-shit-m'so sensitive, keep clenching around my dick, that's it-fuckkk"

"Jesus christ, it's been an hour"

"Did you forget he has the super soldier serum? They're not gonna stop any time soon"

"I'M CUMMING JAMES"

"Gonna fucking cum for you y/n, OH FUCK YESSS you're so sexy when you fight baby, m'gonna fuckin' cum again, I can't stop"

"He's really gonna go all night, isn't he"

"Can you blame him?"

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part three)

Steve Rogers x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : The reader returns to New York for the first time after Steve left, reuniting with Bucky. We see a little more of what the reader and Steve went through while on the run.

themes/warnings : pining, tension, unrequited love, two sad saps (reader and Bucky) trying to get over trauma and heartache :(, language, brief mention of injuries

word count : <2k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

2024, three months after Steve's departure

You just finished your second mission since the final battle.

Since Tony. Since Nat.

Since... him.

Only three months, or rather, three long months. You don't know why Sam was worried that you are apparently overworking yourself.

He keeps calling you up, checking in from time to time, making sure that you are allowing yourself to relax. Have a little break. Stay with them in New York for a while. Maybe even have a couple of sessions with the therapist Bucky is seeing.

He must have done a darn good job at convincing you, or maybe you were just exhausted, because you arrive back in New York soon enough.

And Bucky comes knocking on your door not long after.

Your eyes meet, both of you blocking your doorway. Not a single word needs to be said - the understanding you two share runs much deeper.

Two kindred abandoned souls and whatnot.

You step aside to let him through and close the door behind him. His hair is trimmed shorter now, and with his getup, he could pass as just another civilian. It takes another beat of silence before he finally asks, "So how are you?"

You snort at how ridiculous his question sounds. He knows. "How are you?" you counter, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"Touché," he says, shrugging off his leather jacket and placing it atop your kitchen island. He knows his way around. He's been here before, on the many nights you both shared drinks with Natasha, Sam and... him.

Damn it. You curse internally. It's okay, his name was Steve. He's not the fucking boogeyman.

He gives you a quick once over, immediately noticing that you're putting a lot of your weight on your left leg.

"I fell out a window," you sigh.

"Fuck's sake," he grimaces, shaking his head.

"Hey, we can't all be super soldiers, Buck. My muscles are just a bit softer than yours."

He presses on, still concerned, "Checked in for your physical yet?"

"Booked it for tomorrow," you respond. "But it shouldn't be too bad."

You feel his eyes continue to scan you, but in a non-invasive way. He's checking for more injuries, more signs of wear and tear. He's a lot like Steve, but his gaze is different, less commanding.

More broken.

"Anything new?" you have to ask to distract yourself, and he picks up on it right away. About Steve. He hasn't shown up like he said he would. You had been dreading it - the possibility of seeing a much older Steve, after he got to live out his life in this timeline.

He promised he would try and find you. A version of him, at least. White-haired and wrinkled and weary, but still your Steve. He said you would see him again, in what would be his future and your present, and say a real goodbye. Maybe even tell you all about his life and his girl.

You thought you blocked all that out, but sadly it did not slip your mind. You remember. And you didn't want to be there when it happens.

But nothing did, and you didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.

"Nothing," Bucky shakes his head. "But Dr. Banner is keeping track on whether there are any anomalies in the timeline, specifically in where Steve went back. Everything seems to be normal."

He's fine, and he finally got his normal. And you should let go.

As if he can read your mind, Bucky says, "It's hard to let go, isn't it?"

He's struggling. Of course he is. Bucky also has an old skin to shed, and bones to bury. You never encountered the Winter Soldier back in the day, but you heard of him.

Once you got to know Bucky, you never needed to know anything else. This is who he really is, and he's a good person. He's your friend.

And Steve trusted him. He believed in him. That would have been enough in your eyes, if anything.

"What makes you think I haven't let go yet?" you smile weakly.

He exhales, smiling back. Because, he seems to say, I know you.

Stepping forward, he opts for putting a hand on your shoulder first, unsure. He squeezes gently once, but then changes his mind and pulls you in for a hug at the last second, careful not to add any stress on your leg.

It takes the breath out of you, with his vibranium arm wrapped around your midtorso.

"I'm glad you're back," he mumbles against your hair.

Bucky knows that only you would really understand. The others, maybe they loved Steve too. Admired him. But it was different with the two of you.

Clint can move on with his family. Sam has his new responsibilties. Thor is out of world. Wanda has her own burden to bear. The world will go on as it always has.

But not for us, you think. As he held you tight, you decide that you will help Bucky through it. You will make sure that he gets the peace that he deserves and he is able to let go of Steve. Even if doesn't happen for you, this would be enough.

You offer him a drink after a moment, and he accepts without hesitation.

This is how it starts. This is how the two of you begin to move on.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

2017, ten months after the Avengers' Civil War

"Where were you?" Steve's voice came from somewhere in the room. He was seated in the small living room of your shared cabin, blinds drawn shut, almost out of sight.

You twisted around, and let your duffel bag fall to the floor. Squeezing the bridge of your nose, you let out a shaky breath. "What the hell, Steve, you nearly scared me."

You rummaged through the cupboard, looking for your stashed whiskey. "Nearly," you repeated in jest, when you heard him making his way to you.

You got a much better look at him then. His hair had darkened due to its length, and his beard was thicker. You were going to need several swigs of hard alcohol to resist jumping his bones.

"I was worried," he said, and his tone was gentler. It made you feel guilty, and you didn't know why. "I came back from Wakanda and you were gone."

"I wasn't gone, Steve. Sam needed help getting away with something, you know how it is. We don't exactly have a set schedule on when and where to go, given our fugitive status."

"I know, I know," he said right away, frustrated. What's wrong with him? "But you could have called, left a note - "

"A note could have been intercepted."

" - anything. Just to let me know how you are. You could have been taken in for all I know - "

"You really think I would let them take me in?"

He threw a stern glare your way, propping a hand on his hip. Based on his stance, you thought of how it looked like Captain America was about to give you a good scolding.

But you beat him to it. You were just too tired, and your arm was killing you. "Look, Steve, I had to help Sam and you were still in Wakanda checking up on Bucky. I didn't think it was a big deal. I thought I would be back here by the time you - "

"What's wrong with your arm?" he interrupted you, his practiced eyes easily noticing the damage, and reached for your forearm. "Take your jacket off."

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head before you can catch yourself. "What?" you squeaked, but you knew just what he meant.

Steve was on full Captain mode, always looking out for anyone he feels responsible for. That's all it was. You had to remind your hopeful self that it was nothing more.

His hands were waiting by the neckline of your jacket, asking for permission. Ever so polite, even when his mood is sour.

You can ignore a lot of things, compartmentalize your emotions. You're used to it all, not getting too attached to anyone or anything as a result of your chosen life.

But you couldn't ignore the burning feeling his fingertips left behind as they grazed your skin. When he guided you to the couch so he can take a better look at the bruises on your arm, you were seated close. The closest you've ever been to each other, but he didn't look fazed at all.

Of course not. This doesn't mean the same to him, as it does to me.

You watched him the entire time, his long eyelashes almost grazing his cheek as he looked down at his work. His brows furrowed in concentration. Once in a while, he mumbled something that sounded like, never should've happened, or gotta watch out next time.

It didn't take long for him to fix you up nicely, your arm disinfected and wrapped in gauze.

After you thanked him, you stood from the seat, ready to compartmentalize that moment too. Because that was not the time to go falling for anyone, especially not someone who was just too good for you.

But he grabbed your hand before you walked away, looking up at you as he stayed seated.

"Steve?" There it was again, that burning. That warmth. If he didn't notice the goosebumps on your skin before, you were sure he saw them then.

"I - " he hesitated, before finally deciding on, "I'm glad you're okay."

You tilted your head, smiling. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, y'know."

His worried and serious expression drops and he smiled, eyes all crinkled.

And that was one sight you won't ever be able to ignore.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

A week later, Natasha dropped by. Sporting a brand new white-blonde hairdo that suited her just as fine as her signature red.

You teased her about it, saying how she must have been waiting for an opportunity like this to have an excuse to drastically switch out her hairstyle.

The two of you sat on the bench on the patio while Steve chopped up wood in the distance, looking like a right ol' lumberjack.

He looked too damn good, and it annoyed you. He wasn't making any of it easy.

"You could switch your hair out too, you know. It helps in going incognito," she reached over and twirled a strand of your hair.

You swatted her hand away playfully, grinning, "Oh, but my face is too memorable so it might not even work."

"Oh really?" she smiled, with that mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, Steve certainly seems to think so."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"He looks at you like you're his sun or something," she stretched out, amused by the obvious rush of blood to your face.

You shook your head profusely, because of how wrong you thought her assumptions were. "He looks at me because there's no one else around here to look at. Not for at least fifty miles or even more."

"Honey, please. It's my job to know these things."

"Oh, is it now?"

"Mhmm," she patted your knee, tilting her head in Steve's direction without turning to look at him. "I'm willing to bet Tony's LA mansion that he's looking at you right now."

"No, he's not - "

"Then prove me wrong."

But you turned, and you couldn't prove her wrong.

Your eyes met Steve's and when he realized your attention was on him, he simply smiled.

Like you were his sun, Natasha had said. But she was a bit off the mark.

You were never Steve's sun, but he was yours.

Read part four here ~

taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx

It will be a bit more of jumping back and forth through time, before we see everyone back together (even Steve? 🤷🏻‍♀️)

It's the start of a potential Bucky x reader. I gotta be careful here because I might just flip and want the reader to be with him instead.. who could ever look over Bucky???? He's going to make it hard for us that's for sure.

[spnbabe67]

Fire Up The Night

Kinktober Day 30: Against The Wall (B.B.)

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Original Female Character

Warnings: Smut, Throw away character gets a little handsy, PiV, Sex in an Alley,

Summary: Butcher can't stand the sight of seeing Samarra flirt with someone else. But she isn't his, right?

Word Count: 2233

Authors Note: Title is the title of a song by New Medicine

I know I wrote something similar to this with my last Jake Seresin entry, but I what can I say? I'm a sucker for the possessive type, and I hopefully made this different enough to count. I also decided halfway through I could have written it another way, but by that point it was too late for me to go back and change it because I still had to study for an exam the next day.

Butcher was two seconds away from crushing the tumbler full of whiskey in his grasp. He didn’t know how long Samarra had been across the bar talking to a sleazy looking guy, a Supe high up in the Vought chain if the info they were given had any credibility. Not quite as god-like as one of the Seven, but definitely had enough clearance that if they managed to snatch the wanker, they could get some good intel off of him. But fuck, if he had to watch Samarra flirt with him for any longer, Butcher was gonna kill someone. The Supe, Steve or Tony or something, had her leaned back on her elbows against the bar, shooting her a thousand-watt grin, plying her with a seemingly endless supply of alcohol. Butcher could help the twinge of satisfaction he felt every time the Supe bought her some fruity little drink. At least I know what she likes.

Samarra, to her credit, seemed to hold her liquor well, holding out through the conversation like a champ. Maybe a little too well. Butcher gritted his teeth at the nagging thought. Her smile looked just a little too bright, laugh sounding a little too real for his liking. From his vantage point in the corner of the club, he could see the way Samarra didn’t balk from Tony/Steve’s hungry gaze devouring her body on display. Butcher had argued the dress made of gold-accented black gauzy material that hung off every curve and dip of her body was too damn revealing, but Annie had insisted, and Samarra had agreed with her. He knew she was stunning, but why choose that dress in particular; she could seduce a sworn celibate in a pair of week old sweats, she didn’t need all the makeup piled on her features or the glitz and glam. It was simply adding insult to injury.

The worst part was he knew he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Wasn’t supposed to feel this raw and grating jealousy every time Samarra trailed her finger up the Supe’s arm. They were fuck buddies for fuck’s sake, not going steady. So all Butcher could do was watch on in silence, doing his best to keep his cool as she worked her magic, every tinkling laugh and featherlight touch on the poor sap’s arm, chest, shoulder, only pulling Tony/Steve further and further into her web of lies. Butcher should have been disturbed how easy this was for her, but instead it had the opposite effect. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the pounding music and flashing lights, mostly naked bodies grinding on the floors and poles, but he’d had to readjust his pants more than once watching her seduce Tony/Steve. 

After what Butcher deemed too damn long, Samarra’s gray eyes caught his, disappointment and anger ebbing over him at the subtlest shake of her head. Not necessarily at her, but at their informant for giving them wrong intel, wasting their time and needlessly putting them in danger. He’d definitely be killing somebody later. Maybe now, Butcher thought as Tony/Steve’s hand landed on Samarra’s waist. Way far past having enough, he downed the rest of his drink before weaving his way through the crowd.

Samarra kept the preformative smile plastered to her face, looking up at Steven beneath heavily lidded eyes, playing the drunken bimbo to a T. She had to stop herself from viscerally recoiling from his sweaty palm on her waist, feeling his humidity through the very delicate fabric of her dress. 

“Oi, cunt. You messin’ with me girl?”

That feeling of disdain and exasperation quickly faded as Butcher’s familiar accent came from her left. She had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into laughter as he muscled his way between her and Sleazen, as she’d named him in her head, Sleazen’s eyes going wide at the intimidating figure Butcher cut, immediately stepping off her. His familiar scent wafted over her, putting her nerves less on edge as they’d just been. She had full confidence she could drop Sleazen if she had to, but knowing she had back up only helped matters. 

“I’m alright, Baby.” Samarra turned to Butcher, feeling her heart pounding in her chest as she gave the quickest sidelong glance to the Not-Supe before passionately, and loudly, kissing Butcher, hoping he understood the angle she was playing.

He clearly got the message, big hands falling to her hips, replacing the same area where Sleazen had just had his own grip. After a second, Samarra peeked an eye open, checking to see if the coast was clear. When she saw Sleazen was nowhere to be seen, she pulled away taking a breath, giggling to herself.

“Holy shit was he a loser.” Samarra adjusted the strap of her dress, the satin strip having almost slipped off her shoulder. What she missed was the way Butcher’s dark gaze caught on the movement, pulling his attention back to her face. 

“I bet.” He guided her by the waist away from the bar and through the throng of people. “You can tell me and the others just as soon as we get back.” 

Samarra didn’t think too much about it when Billy led her out one of the side exits, the dark doorway leading into a small alleyway behind the club. The fresh air was welcomed, Samarra breathing it in deeply as the chill of the night sent a shiver down her spine. She damn near ran into Butcher’s back, her gaze skyward to look at the stars speckling the pitch black backdrop. 

“Butch, why’d you stop?” Samarra wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m freezin’ my tits off out here.”

Her brows furrowed as Butcher looked at her over his shoulder, turning around to face her. His pupils were blown wide and the way he was looking at her had heat pooling in her core. It was so different from the entitled gaze of Sleazen, this heated look was welcomed, encouraged even.

“What?” Samarra asked, laughing awkwardly as Butcher took a step towards her, making her step back. Or she would have had the cold stone of the brick wall hadn’t bit into her back, making her flinch at the harsh temperature contrast.

“Do you,” Butcher took another half step closer; if Samarra tilted her head up and leaned in just a little, their mouths would touch. “Have any idea, what you do to me.”

Samarra ran her tongue over her lips, her mouth parting open slightly as her breath hitched as he got closer. “I have an idea.”

All it took was Butcher dipping his head to capture her lips, kissing her deeply, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. Samarra let her eyes fall shut at the sensation of his mouth on hers, his body brushing up against her arms. He took hold of her wrist, unfurling her arms from around her body and a small noise escaped her as Butcher guided her hand down between their bodies to press her palm against the very obvious bulge in his jeans. 

“Alla that just from watchin ya work your magic on that sleazy cunt.” Butcher groaned against her skin, trailing his mouth down her jaw to her neck.

Samarra bit her lip, palming him through his jeans. “I think that says more about who you are as a man than it does about my skills.”

She felt him snort a laugh against her neck, nipping playfully at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Samarra tipped her head back against the wall, rolling her hips against the thigh he’d nudged between her legs, pinning her against the brick. Butcher’s hand slid up the outside of her thigh, teasing under the thin fabric of her dress, the hem having fallen about mid-thigh. A cheeky grin tipped the corners of her lips upward as Butcher cursed against her neck as his hands slid high enough on her thigh and hips to realize that she was not, in fact, wearing any panties. 

“Fuckin’ diabolical.” Butcher growled, kissing her harshly. “Gonna give this old man a heart attack pulling shit like this.” 

“Who said it was for you?” 

Butcher’s answering swat to the inside of her thigh had Samarra laughing breathily. The teasing was short lived as he palmed her ass, kneading the softness there before hoisting her upwards, wrapping her legs around his waist. The leather of his trench coat was cold against the bare skin of her legs, but the heat pooling between her legs more than made up for it, along with the warmth of his torso through his dress shirt

Samarra knew her arousal was soaking into the bottom of his shirt but she couldn’t find it in her to care as Butcher’s hip chased her hand as she deftly undid his belt and the button of his jeans. His beard chafed at the side of her neck as he worked to kiss and suck dark marks into her skin, his hand coming up to knead her breasts through her dress He groaned deeply, the sound reverberating into her body when as he went to kiss her, Samarra brought her hand to her mouth, licking her palm wrapping it around his length, pumping her hand up and down him loosely as she pulled him free from his clothes. He bucked his hips against her hand, rutting his cock through her fingers as she guided him to her center. 

They both groaned as the head of him slid inside of her. Butcher leaned in, reclaiming her mouth. Samarra’s desperate moans lived and died on his tongue as he slid in and in until his hips sat flush against her. Butcher slid back out, almost all the way, before slamming back in, making her cry out, the sound swallowed by his mouth. Again and again he rocked his hips back just to slam back in, driving her into the wall. Samarra could feel the roughness of the brick at her back digging into her skin, scraping and scratching every time he bottomed out with a sharp thrust. 

Samarra slid her hands up and down his torso, trying to find someplace to steady herself against the onslaught of harsh thrusts, ending up on his shoulders. She rolled her hips back against him, keeping up with his punishing rhythm the best she could. Her head goes hazy at his seemingly omnipresent existence; he’s around her, he's inside her, even as her breaths grew into ragged pants she breathed in his scent. Butcher’s lips migrated back down her jaw, ending up on her neck as he braced a hand on the wall beside her head. 

“Fuck, Mara.” Butcher mumbled, nearly inaudibly, and Samarra wondered if his utterance was meant to be incoherent as he continued. “I shouldn’t be jealous. You aren’t even mine.”

Samarra bit her lip hard as the revelation was punctuated with a harsh thrust, his movements becoming more uneven, snapping up into her harder and harder until she started to see stars behind her eyes. Samarra clung to him as that coil in her belly grew tighter, her thighs starting to go lazy around his waist. Butcher came with a string of curses into her shoulder, hips stuttering, gripping her thigh to keep it in place on his side. Samarra rolled her hips against him, garnering the friction of his still-on pants against his clit to supplement the change in rhythm. He continued to fuck into her until her inner walls squeezed around him, a keening moan falling from her lips as she came.

Butcher pulled away just enough as they both panted harshly in the post-climax high. He helped set her back down on her feet, holding onto his arm since her legs were still shaky. Samarra straightened the skirt of her dress back down her legs, running a thumb under her lip to swipe away her smeared lipstick. 

“You got-” Butcher gestured to her mouth as she did.

“Here?” She rubbed a different spot.

“No, a little more over-not that far.” Butcher huffed at her before grabbing her wrist. “Just, let me get it.”

Samarra stood still as Butcher reached up, dragging his thumb along the side of her lip, his minstations gentle as he removed her smudged lipstick before pulling his hand away. 

“Thanks.” She said quietly, suppressing a shiver as the loss of heat reminded her just how cold it was outside. “Shall we. I’m sure M.M. and the others are thinkin’ we got ourselves into trouble.”

Butcher nodded, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him around the back of the building. Samarra flinched when as they rounded the corner with the parking lot in sight, something warm encased her shoulders. Butcher’s cologne filled her nose as she realized it was his trench coat, patched many times over and warm, that he’d plunked down on her shoulders. She looked up at him with pinched brows, but his only reply was a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Samarra opened her mouth to say something, anything. Maybe address what he’d muttered into her body minutes before. But in the end she shut it, chalking it up to the heat of the moment; it wasn’t like she knew how to broach the subject if it wasn’t anyway. Instead she stayed silent, sliding into Butcher’s car as he pointed the headlights back to the apartment.

[wellcomeoneileen]

Why does Randy Harrison deserve compensation? What happened to him? You can DM me if it's not okay to be public

Hey! No it’s totally okay.

⚠️disclaimer - I am a NEW fan and so I am NOT the most informed at all. Other people like @brian-kinney-apologist like really know shit. I initially found things bc watching S4 made me go oh there is bts shit going on for sure and googled, and then when I got on tumblr I saw a bunch of posts talking about it, too.

Lots of older sources are harder to find now bc they didn’t do a digital preservation or the website is expired, but here is what I’ve found, from heated Advocate articles whilst the show aired and then from more measured reflections from podcasts around 2016.

Randy was young and it was his first TV show - when he started he didn’t even have an agent, and really didn’t know what he was getting into. He had done sex scenes on stage and thought that he was pretty prepared for what was to come.

However, he has stated he ended up feeling pretty objectified, such as hearing “we need more shots of Justin’s ass” regularly or expressing a desire to not to go-go dancing type scenes (King of Babylon upset him) and then even more go-go dancing being added (S2 Sap scenes). He was also told to act less gay by casting directors for the show, and to “try to be more butch because Justin isn’t out of the closet”

The show pre-dates intimacy coordinators and there have been allusions, including from the actresses Thea and Michelle, that the sex scenes could be uncomfortable to film.

There was BTS clashing, with producer Tony Jones !!reportedly!!! Saying that Randy was a bitch to work with and “showrunners” “reportedly” saying they would never work with Randy again. There are two interview clips, one from when the show was airing, and one from 2016, when CowLip say they wanted all actors to be comfortable on set, and in BOTH clips , like 15 years apart, Randy kinda like laugh/roll his eyes and Gale looks at him very bemusedly. They had bigger reactions in the ~2003 clip.

He was openly pretty angry as the show went on. He told the Advocate that he would never be friends with or respect Justin if real. He disapproved of the Britin relationship. He said he had to fight to include the scene of Justin topping Brian, which was very important to him. Leading into season 5 he stated he hoped Justin was killed off by getting hit by a truck (obviously being glib, but like he was mad lol)

He has said that lots of scenes needed to be reshot because he struggled to do them so much, like the Cody sexy gun scene that made him so uncomfortable, and then either he or Gale said S5 sex scenes were reshot a lot because they just couldn’t stop laughing at that point anymore.

Peter and Scott recently have said the only time anyone asked for actors’ opinions was right after season 1 ended, and to ME they sounded kinda cheeky about it, all these years later, so perhaps it was a cast sticking point? Unsure, and it wasn’t even Randy who said that. Fat grain of salt.

He has more recently reflected on this time period and expressed regret he went out the way he did, and he understands things better and honors his craft more (heavy paraphrasing!) bc he was mentally checked out by the end and wishes he had finished strong instead.

Also, the cast didn’t realize when signing on how isolated they would be from The Industry. Randy has spoken about this in an unrelated podcast, as have the actors who play Ted and Emmett. NYC or LA are where you want to be for networking, and then signing on to spend the majority of the year in Toronto negatively impacted their careers, they feel. Randy has said he had to start from scratch after the show ended, and Peter and Scott have said Showtime had no idea how to market the show nor their stars, and so they had to just watch as all the initial hype fizzled and nothing was done with them. They were contracted to work too much to seriously be involved elsewhere, while simultaneously not getting good exposure, which I IMAGINE created a dire sort of mood and morale on set. < personal interpretation and fictionalizing history.

Meaning, Randy probably at the very least FELT like he had spent five years on a show that didn’t respect him and it was largely for nothing. He has since stated he appreciates the opportunity and it is the reason he was finically secure, for which he is deeply grateful.

And then finally the fans! He had stalker(s?) and tons of creepy people and was heavily typecast and people would come up to him frequently, which made him uncomfy, and would furthermore act like he was actually Justin, which made him super uncomfy. He was kinda like Chappell Roan!! He was like hey I’m not Justin I’m a person and y’all are freaks. He has publicially declined to speak on the stalking issues, which given his vocal responses to other issues, indicates to ME that it’s pretty personal and upsetting (I mean it’s stalking it’s obviously horrible but you know what I mean). During the show he had a boyfriend that fans like tormented online and even on posters (that bit comes from Tumblr or another forum, so not like verified info on my part at all) because they shipped “Gandy” so hard. I know I’ve read on tumblr about the insane Gandy people but all I remember is they were intense and insane and negatively impacted Randy’s actual real life. Again, that’s info from fans that I haven’t read in article or heard from out of his mouth. Secondary source lol.

This point is PURE speculation, but early interviews with the whole cast were super excited, and they all talked about how excited they were for something ground breaking. By the end, people were angry or giving fluff responses, or in Peter’s case; calmly stating the show was a soap opera and that’s okay. I FEEL like everyone thought they were signing up for something more real/gritty/positive impact to society and then were like oh I’m here to look hot in this show that only moms watch to get them turned on to have sex with their husband. Cool.

Now, do I agree with that - no. But, the show audience was vastly different than expected, and the artistic direction might have been too, both of which might have really disappointed people. Esp Randy and maybe Gale. Randy was a capital T theatre person, and Gale was too and had lots of experimental work and like performance art. Randy has ALSO expressed displeasure with some theater work he did because he didn’t think it was fresh and the audience was only older wealthy white people, so we do know that this sort of thing does matter to his sense of fulfillment at work.

TLDR; had to shoot scenes he didn’t want to, several times, felt objectified on set, disagreed with his character’s direction, maybe felt like he wasn’t being listened to artistically, was cut off from other work opportunities, didn’t appear to get along with leadership, had bad fans, was young and in deep over his head, and at the very least *started* with no career or social support system.

Again!! Am not the most knowledgeable person !!! I do NOT want to spread misinformation so hopefully I’ve tagged where I’m reading into things vs actual quotes but also people who have actually been around pls feel free to say 🙋um actuallllyyyyy

[amethystarachnid]

Hi! 🤍

For my second request, I'd love to request a college student! Tony Stark or a young! Tony Stark (after college) story for your Marvel Holiday Special, whichever one you prefer to write for.

I'm thinking of the prompt [ 8. First Christmas Together  – Share a special first holiday celebration with your character, complete with shared traditions and sweet moments. ] for him and Fem! Reader, with lots of cute moments such as buying/decorating a tree together, going to a Christmas market, exchanging sweet, thoughtful gifts, making peppermint hot chocolate, etc. (I understand if you can't fit all of this in; please feel free to pick and choose which ideas you'd like to write about the most.)

Thank you so much, and I'm looking forward to seeing all the stories you'll gift us this holiday season! 🤍

FROGS, GLOBES AND BURNT CHOCOLATE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: it's the first Christmas for you and Tony in your shared apartment and you are really excited: will it be a complete disaster or the best Christmas ever?

ᯓ★ TW(s): fluff

ᯓ★ me when soft men and Christmas

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The biting December air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, the door swinging closed with a quiet thud behind you. Snowflakes drift lazily from a slate-gray sky, dotting the ground with a fresh layer of white, and the smell of pine and roasted chestnuts lingers faintly in the air. The shopping plaza is bustling with life, from bundled-up couples carrying oversized bags to kids chasing each other, their laughter cutting through the cold. Beside you, Tony Stark, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, surveys the scene like he’s about to conquer it.

“You realize,” he starts, cocking an eyebrow at the giant inflatable Santa looming above the store entrance, “this is all part of a grand capitalist scheme, right? They’re counting on saps like us to drop a small fortune on plastic snowflakes and gaudy lights.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his arm playfully as you step closer. “You say that now, but I saw how excited you got when I mentioned a tree. Don’t try to pretend you’re above it.”

“I’m excited because I’m picturing us building some kind of robot that lights the tree for us. Or—ooh, one that launches ornaments like tiny projectiles. Think about it: automated Christmas chaos.”

“Or we could just have a normal Christmas like normal people,” you suggest, looping your arm through his and steering him toward the store entrance. The warmth of his body seeps through the layers of your coat, and you feel a spark of giddiness bubbling in your chest. This isn’t just any Christmas; it’s your Christmas together, in your new apartment. The thought alone is enough to make your heart skip.

Tony hums noncommittally, but there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as the automatic doors slide open. “Normal’s overrated. But fine, I’ll humor you. Lead on, holiday spirit incarnate.”

The store is a sensory overload of glitter and color, every aisle packed to the brim with tinsel, ornaments, and lights. A soft instrumental version of “Jingle Bells” plays over the speakers, adding to the festive chaos. Tony lets out a low whistle as he takes it all in.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. This is…a lot,” he says, plucking a sparkly green bow from a nearby shelf and holding it up. “Tell me you don’t want me to wear this.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you reply, snatching it out of his hand, “but now that you mention it…”

He grins, a boyish, lopsided thing that makes your stomach flip. “You know, I’d do it for you. I’d make it look good, too.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you steer the cart down the first aisle. It’s stocked with strings of lights in every color imaginable, and you pause to inspect a box of classic white ones. Tony, naturally, zeroes in on something completely different.

“Multicolor. Obviously,” he says, holding up a box of lights that blink in erratic patterns. “This screams fun. And by fun, I mean mildly seizure-inducing, but hey, memorable.”

“Memorable is one word for it,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “But I was thinking classic. White lights are elegant.”

“Oh, I see. You’re going for classy,” Tony says, resting an arm casually on the cart’s handle. “But come on, we’re young, living in sin, and this is our first Christmas in our place. It should be fun, not…a Martha Stewart catalog.”

You laugh despite yourself, considering his point. “Okay, fine. But we’re compromising. White lights for the tree, multicolor for…something else.”

“Deal,” Tony agrees, tossing the box of multicolored lights into the cart with an air of triumph. “This is how we build a healthy relationship. Compromising over Christmas decorations. Dr. Phil would be so proud.”

“You’re impossible,” you say, rolling your eyes even as a smile tugs at your lips.

“And yet, here you are, willingly cohabitating with me. Who’s the real winner here?”

You shake your head, but the warmth in his voice and the sparkle in his eyes make it impossible to be annoyed. Instead, you grab his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Come on, Stark. Let’s find a tree.”

The tree section is overwhelming, with rows upon rows of artificial evergreens of varying heights and degrees of realism. Tony takes it upon himself to test the sturdiness of each one by shaking them, earning a few disapproving looks from nearby shoppers.

“This one looks like it could survive an earthquake,” he says, gesturing to a six-foot tree with perfectly symmetrical branches. “What do you think?”

You inspect it critically, running your hand over the faux pine needles. “It’s nice, but…is it too perfect? I kind of like the ones that look a little…messy. More natural.”

Tony steps back, rubbing his chin in mock seriousness. “You want messy? Oh, I can find messy. But let’s just hope it doesn’t come pre-infested with fake squirrels or something.”

“Fake squirrels?” you echo, laughing. “That’s oddly specific.”

“What can I say? My imagination is a gift.” He grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple before turning to scour the rows for the “perfectly imperfect” tree. The simple gesture sends a warm glow through you, and you find yourself marveling, not for the first time, at how easily he makes you feel cherished.

After some debate—and a bit of mild bickering—you settle on a slightly uneven but charmingly full tree that Tony immediately dubs “Frank.” The name sticks, and by the time you’re wheeling the cart toward the ornament aisle, you’re both brainstorming ways to make Frank the star of the apartment.

“Obviously, Frank needs a killer topper,” Tony says, scanning the shelves. “Something that says, ‘I’m the king of this Christmas.’ What about this?” He holds up a comically oversized star, glitter raining down from it as he tilts it from side to side.

You wrinkle your nose. “It’s a little…much.”

“That’s the point,” he insists, but you shake your head, and he relents with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You pick. But if you pick something boring, I reserve the right to judge you.”

You smirk, holding up a simple yet elegant angel with golden wings. “How’s this?”

Tony eyes it for a moment before nodding. “It’s got class. I approve.”

“Good,” you reply, adding it to the cart. “Now let’s talk ornaments.”

Tony immediately gravitates toward the more unconventional options—a hamburger, a miniature disco ball, a tiny rocket ship. You can’t help but laugh as he piles them into the cart with zero hesitation.

“We’re going for eclectic, right?” he says, grinning at your expression.

“Eclectic is one way to put it,” you reply, picking up a box of glass baubles in varying shades of red and gold. “But I think we need a little balance.”

“Sure, sure. Balance.” He waves a hand dismissively before adding a dinosaur ornament to the pile. “Like this guy. He’s green, he’s festive, and he’s clearly balancing the holiday spirit with prehistoric flair.”

You groan, but it’s impossible to be annoyed with him. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks. By the time you make it to the checkout line, your cart is an eclectic mix of classic and quirky, much like the two of you.

As the cashier rings up your items, Tony leans against the counter, watching you with an expression that’s equal parts fond and amused. “You know,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear, “I think this might be the most fun I’ve ever had in a store.”

“Really?” you tease, arching an eyebrow. “Even more fun than that time we got kicked out of IKEA?”

“That wasn’t fun; that was an adventure,” he replies, grinning. “This is different. This is…nice.”

His words, simple as they are, make your chest ache in the best way. You reach out, slipping your hand into his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah,” you agree softly. “It is.”

By the time you get everything loaded into the car and head back to the apartment, the snow has started falling harder, the flakes sticking to the windshield as the wipers sweep them away. Tony hums along to the Christmas music playing softly on the radio, and you can’t help but smile at how relaxed he looks, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his knee.

When you finally arrive home, the two of you haul your bags and the boxed-up tree upstairs, collapsing onto the couch in a heap of exhaustion and laughter. The apartment is warm and cozy, the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle you lit earlier filling the air. Tony stretches out, his head resting in your lap as he looks up at you with that lazy, lopsided grin you love so much.

“Ready to turn this place into a winter wonderland?” he asks, his voice tinged with mock seriousness.

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And with that, the two of you set to work, turning your shared space into something magical. Every ornament, every string of lights, every silly joke shared along the way feels like a promise—of love, of laughter, of a future together that’s as bright and colorful as the tree now standing proudly in the corner.

Tony sprawls out on the floor, an open box of ornaments beside him, his legs kicking lazily as he examines a particularly garish one: a glitter-covered pineapple. He holds it up to the light, squinting as if he’s inspecting a fine piece of art. “This one,” he declares, pointing at the pineapple and then at you with the seriousness of a presidential speech, “needs prime real estate. Front and center. It’s the kind of ornament that demands attention.”

You glance over from where you’re untangling a string of lights, your hands already glittery from the process. “It’s hideous. If it’s going on the tree, it’s going in the back where no one can see it.”

“Hideous?” Tony gasps, clutching the pineapple like it’s a wounded comrade. “This is a conversation starter. It says, ‘This tree belongs to people with taste and a sense of humor.’”

“It says, ‘This tree belongs to people who lost a bet,’” you counter, tossing a rogue light bulb into the trash pile.

He drops the ornament into the box with an exaggerated huff, crossing his arms and leaning back against the couch. “You have no appreciation for the avant-garde. Next, you’re going to tell me my disco-ball ornament doesn’t make the cut either.”

“Oh, that’s going on the tree,” you say with a smirk, plugging in the lights and watching them flicker to life. “I have to draw the line somewhere, but even I’m not heartless enough to deprive you of a tiny disco inferno.”

Tony grins, clearly victorious. “That’s the spirit. All right, let’s light this bad boy up.”

The two of you tackle the tree together, winding the lights around it in haphazard loops. Tony insists on controlling the rotation of the tree while you maneuver the lights, which leads to a fair amount of bickering, punctuated by his constant reminders to “watch the top—Frank’s got dignity, you know.”

“You named it,” you mutter under your breath, stepping over a stray ornament. “You’re not allowed to treat it like it’s a fragile piece of Renaissance art.”

“I named it because I care,” he replies loftily, holding the tree steady as you stretch up on your tiptoes to loop the lights higher. “And because I think Frank deserves respect for the sacrifices he’s making to be part of our inaugural Christmas.”

“He’s a fake tree, Tony.”

“Fake doesn’t mean he’s emotionless,” Tony quips, grinning at you. “I mean, look at me. A solid 50% of my charm is artificial, and I’m still delightful.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you finally secure the last strand of lights. “Okay, fine, Frank. If you’re sentient, blink twice.”

Tony leans in close to the tree, squinting at the lights with mock intensity. “Was that a blink? Did you see it?”

“Definitely not,” you reply, rolling your eyes as you pick up a box of ornaments. “Now let’s get to the fun part.”

Tony takes an unceremonious dive into the box, emerging with the hamburger ornament in one hand and a golden bauble in the other. “Burgers or boring?” he asks, holding them up like they’re dueling gladiators.

“Both,” you say, plucking the bauble from his hand and placing it carefully on the tree. “It’s called balance, remember?”

He makes a face but hangs the burger ornament on a branch anyway. “Fine, but I’m putting it next to the dinosaur for thematic consistency. Carnivores stick together.”

“Carnivores?” you repeat, laughing. “You’re putting way too much thought into this.”

“Hey, someone has to,” Tony says, standing back to survey his work. “Look at that. A prehistoric picnic. The tree’s already a masterpiece, and we’ve barely started.”

The decorating continues in a flurry of glitter, laughter, and occasional sabotage. Every time you carefully place a glass ornament, Tony finds a way to “accidentally” bump into the tree, sending it wobbling precariously.

“Oops,” he says innocently, steadying the trunk. “Guess Frank’s not as sturdy as we thought.”

“Keep doing that, and Frank’s going to end up on the curb,” you warn, pointing a candy-cane-shaped ornament at him like it’s a weapon.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tony replies, his grin widening. “Not with all the blood, sweat, and glitter we’ve poured into this.”

“You’re testing me, Stark.”

“Oh, I live to test you,” he says with a wink, before dramatically hanging the pineapple ornament directly in the center of the tree. “There. Perfection.”

You groan, but you’re laughing too hard to argue. Instead, you reach for the tree topper—the angel you picked earlier—and hold it up for inspection. “Ready to crown Frank?”

Tony salutes you, stepping back to give you room. “Do it. Make him majestic.”

You climb onto the arm of the couch for a little extra height, balancing carefully as you place the angel on top of the tree. Tony’s hands hover near your waist, ready to catch you if you wobble.

“There,” you say, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “What do you think?”

Tony tilts his head, his arms crossed as he surveys the tree. “I think Frank’s looking sharp. A little eclectic, a little classy. Just like us.”

You smile, nudging his side. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he replies smoothly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “So, what’s next? Stockings? Mistletoe? A twenty-foot inflatable snowman for the balcony?”

“Stockings, yes. Mistletoe, maybe. The snowman? Absolutely not.”

“Buzzkill,” Tony mutters, but he’s grinning as he grabs a pair of stockings from one of the shopping bags. “Do we hang these by the nonexistent chimney with care? Or do we just toss them wherever and hope Santa’s GPS works?”

You snatch the stockings from him, rolling your eyes. “We hang them on the wall, genius. Like civilized people.”

As you arrange the stockings Tony rummages through another bag, producing a tangled mess of garland. He holds it up triumphantly. “What do you think? Wall art or trip hazard?”

“Knowing you? Both.”

He laughs, draping the garland over his shoulders like a boa. “You’re no fun. But fine, I’ll keep it classy. Where do you want it?”

After some debate—and an accidental garland lassoing incident—you manage to string it up along the window, adding a cozy, festive touch to the room. By the time you’re finished, the apartment feels transformed. The tree twinkles in the corner, the stockings hang proudly on the wall, and the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle still lingers in the air.

Tony collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, patting the space beside him. “All right, decorating queen. Come admire our masterpiece.”

You join him, tucking your feet under you as you lean against his side. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as the two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching the lights on the tree blink and twinkle.

“You know,” he says after a moment, his voice softer than usual, “this actually turned out pretty great.”

“You sound surprised,” you tease, resting your head against his chest.

“I’m not surprised,” he replies, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I just… I don’t know. It’s nice. Having this. With you.”

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice, and you tilt your head to look up at him. His expression is uncharacteristically serious, his brown eyes warm and earnest.

“Yeah,” you say softly, your hand finding his. “It is.”

He squeezes your hand, his usual smirk returning as he glances at the tree. “Although I still say the pineapple should’ve been the topper.”

You groan, laughing as you swat his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he quips, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Guess that makes me irresistible.”

“Or maybe I’m just a saint,” you reply, grinning up at him.

“Either way,” he says, settling back against the couch with a satisfied sigh, “this is shaping up to be the best Christmas ever.”

And as you sit there, the soft glow of the tree lighting up the room, you can’t help but agree.

The snow falls gently, blanketing the cobblestone streets of the Christmas market in a powdery white. Strings of twinkling lights are draped between booths, casting a warm glow over the bustling scene. The air is rich with the mingling scents of roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, and sweet pastries, and the faint hum of Christmas carols played by a live quartet in the distance adds a magical touch to the atmosphere.

You clutch Tony’s arm as the two of you wander through the market, your boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted ground. He’s wearing his favorite dark coat, the one that hugs his shoulders just right, and a red scarf that you gave him last Christmas. The scarf is slightly askew, and it makes him look effortlessly charming in that disheveled way only he can pull off.

“You know,” he says, his breath puffing out in little clouds, “this place is like a booby trap for wallets. Everywhere you turn, something’s glittering and saying, ‘Buy me! Buy me!’ It’s diabolical.”

You laugh, tightening your grip on his arm. “It’s a Christmas market, Tony. That’s kind of the point.”

He grins, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, well, just remember, you’re in charge of stopping me from buying a chocolate fountain or a solid gold Santa.”

“Solid gold Santa? That’s oddly specific.”

“Give it time,” he replies. “I’m sure there’s a booth for it somewhere. Maybe next to the artisanal hot chocolate stand.”

As if on cue, you pass a booth selling gourmet hot chocolate, complete with toppings ranging from whipped cream to crushed candy canes. Tony slows, glancing at the display with obvious interest.

“Should we?” he asks, already reaching for his wallet.

“Tony, we’ve been here five minutes, and you’re already caving,” you tease, pulling him away gently. “Let’s at least make it past the first aisle before we start buying things.”

“Fine, but I’m circling back for it,” he says, shooting the booth a longing look as you guide him onward.

The market is a sensory overload in the best possible way. Every booth offers something unique: hand-carved wooden toys, blown glass ornaments, cozy knit scarves, and even quirky items like soap shaped like reindeer. Tony, naturally, gravitates toward the most absurd finds.

“Look at this!” he exclaims, holding up a ceramic frog wearing a Santa hat. “Tell me this isn’t peak holiday spirit.”

“It’s…something,” you admit, trying not to laugh. “But do we really need a festive frog in our lives?”

“We don’t need it, but we deserve it,” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “You’re really going to deny Frank the Frog a warm, loving home?”

You snatch the frog from his hands, placing it back on the display. “Frank the Frog will have to find a family that appreciates him more than we do.”

“Cold,” Tony mutters, shaking his head as you move on. “Heartless. And here I thought you were the soft one in this relationship.”

You glance back at him, smirking. “You clearly don’t know me at all.”

“Oh, I know you,” he replies, falling into step beside you again. “I also know you’re going to want to buy something completely impractical any minute now. And when you do, I’ll be ready to gloat.”

“Fat chance,” you say, but you can already feel your resolve slipping as you pass a booth selling intricately detailed snow globes. One of them catches your eye—a small, delicate scene of a snow-covered village illuminated from within. You reach out to pick it up, turning it over to watch the snow swirl inside.

Tony sidles up next to you, a smug grin on his face. “And here it is. The impractical thing.”

“It’s not impractical,” you protest, cradling the snow globe carefully. “It’s…beautiful.”

“It’s also one more thing for me to dust,” he teases, but there’s no bite to his words. He leans closer, examining the globe with genuine interest. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s pretty cool. But do we really need it?”

You hesitate, your fingers curling around the base of the globe. “Probably not,” you say reluctantly, setting it back down. “But if I’m not allowed to buy the snow globe, you’re definitely not allowed to buy Frank the Frog.”

“Deal,” he says with a laugh, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the next aisle. “We’ll save our money for something really ridiculous.”

The snow continues to fall, soft and steady, as you explore more of the market. Tony insists on sampling every food item in sight—gingerbread, roasted chestnuts, candied almonds—and you can’t help but laugh at the way his face lights up with each new bite.

“This,” he says, holding up a stick of caramel-dipped apple slices, “is how you do a Christmas market. Pure sugar, zero regrets.”

“You’re going to crash so hard later,” you warn, nibbling on one of the apple slices he offers you.

“Worth it,” he replies, his tone entirely unapologetic. “Besides, I’m burning calories walking in circles and fending off your bad taste in snow globes.”

“Watch it,” you say, swatting his arm lightly. “Or I’ll let you buy something ridiculous just to prove a point.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he replies, grinning. “You’re too responsible for that.”

“Don’t test me,” you warn, though you’re smiling too.

Eventually, the two of you come across a booth selling handmade ornaments, each one painted with intricate designs. Tony picks up one shaped like a tiny sled, examining it with a critical eye.

“Okay, this one’s actually pretty cool,” he says, holding it out to you. “And it’s functional. In an emergency, we could probably use it to deliver tiny presents.”

You laugh, taking the ornament from him. “I don’t think it’s meant for that, but it’s cute. Should we get it?”

“Absolutely,” he replies. “Frank the Tree deserves at least one classy ornament.”

“Classy? From the guy who wanted to buy a glittery pineapple?”

“Hey, I contain multitudes,” he says with a shrug, handing over cash to the vendor.

With the ornament carefully tucked away in a bag, you and Tony continue your stroll through the market, the lights twinkling above you like stars. He keeps a running commentary on everything you pass—mocking the price of hand-knitted mittens, marveling at the craftsmanship of a miniature nativity scene, and cracking jokes about a booth selling gourmet dog treats.

“Do you think they’d let us try one?” he asks, holding up a bone-shaped biscuit labeled ‘peanut butter delight.’

“Tony, no,” you say, laughing as you drag him away.

By the time you reach the end of the market, your hands are full of small treasures—a bag of candied almonds, the sled ornament, and a knit scarf that Tony insisted would “complete your winter aesthetic.” The snow has begun to stick to your hair and his, and the cold is starting to nip at your cheeks.

“This was a good call,” Tony says, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as you head back toward the entrance. “Although I’m still not sure how we managed to resist buying the frog.”

“Self-control,” you reply, leaning into him. “A concept you’re not usually familiar with.”

“Hey, I’ve got self-control,” he says, feigning offense. “I just choose to apply it sparingly.”

You laugh, your breath puffing out in the cold air. “Well, I’m proud of us. We didn’t blow our entire budget on useless stuff.”

“Not entirely useless,” he corrects. “The sled ornament is both decorative and practical, remember?”

“Right,” you say, grinning up at him. “It’s a critical investment.”

He smirks, brushing a snowflake from your cheek. “Exactly. And anyway, the best part of the market wasn’t the stuff we bought. It was spending the evening with you.”

Your chest warms at his words, and you pause for a moment, looking up at him as the snow falls softly around you. The twinkling lights of the market reflect in his eyes, and the grin on his face softens into something more sincere.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, though your voice is full of affection.

“Only for you,” he replies, leaning down to kiss you gently, the cold of his lips quickly warming against yours.

The two of you stand there for a moment, surrounded by the magic of the market, the snow falling around you like a scene from a movie. It’s one of those moments you’ll tuck away and remember years from now—simple, sweet, and perfect in its own way.

As you pull apart, Tony grins, slipping his hand into yours. “Come on, let’s go find that hot chocolate stand. I’m not leaving here without it.”

“Hot chocolate sounds perfect,” you agree, your fingers lacing through his as you head back toward the market, ready to end the evening on a sweet note.

The smell of something burning wafts through the apartment as you step out of the bedroom, pulling on your favorite fuzzy socks. It's a warm, cozy kind of Christmas Eve, with snow falling softly outside and the apartment glowing with fairy lights. Except for one thing—the scent hanging in the air doesn’t scream “cozy Christmas.” It screams, “Tony Stark’s been unsupervised in the kitchen.”

“Tony?” you call, heading toward the source of the smell. “What’s going on in there?”

“No need to panic!” his voice answers, though it’s far from reassuring. “Everything’s under control.”

You round the corner into the kitchen to find him standing at the stove, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. There’s a pot on the burner, filled with what can only be described as a charred, lumpy mess, and a thin haze of smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling.

“Under control?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is this your definition of control?”

Tony glances at the pot and then back at you, his face a mix of sheepishness and determination. “It’s a minor setback. I was…experimenting.”

“With what? Kitchen sabotage?”

He scoffs, leaning against the counter as though the mess behind him doesn’t exist. “For your information, I was attempting to make homemade peppermint hot chocolate. Thought I’d surprise you. But apparently, chocolate has a vendetta against me.”

Your lips twitch as you try to suppress a smile. “Let me guess. You burned it?”

“Burned is a strong word,” he says, crossing his arms. “I’d say it’s more… caramelized.”

You peer into the pot, wrinkling your nose. “Tony, this isn’t caramelized. It’s cremated.”

“Details,” he replies breezily, but you can see the frustration behind his teasing tone.

You sigh, stepping closer and nudging him aside gently. “Okay, chef, move over. Let’s salvage this disaster.”

Tony steps back, his arms raised in surrender, watching as you turn off the burner and grab a fresh pot. “You’re really just going to take over? No faith in my culinary prowess?”

“I have faith in many of your skills,” you reply, dumping the ruined chocolate into the trash. “Cooking? Not one of them.”

“Fair,” he admits with a grin, hopping up to sit on the counter. “But in my defense, it’s chocolate. You melt it, you stir it, you drink it. How hard can it be?”

You grab a bar of good-quality chocolate from the pantry and start breaking it into pieces, throwing him a look. “Clearly harder than you thought.”

Tony chuckles, watching you work. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? My moment of weakness.”

“A little,” you admit, your lips curving into a smile as you measure out milk and pour it into the pot. “But mostly I’m wondering how you managed to mess it up so badly. Did you even melt the chocolate?”

“Define ‘melt,’” he says, his grin widening.

You groan, shaking your head as you stir the milk over low heat. “Okay, new rule: You’re not allowed near the stove unless I’m supervising.”

“Oh, come on,” he protests, hopping down from the counter and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his breath tickles your ear. “I was trying to do something nice for you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Your heart softens, and you turn your head slightly to meet his gaze. “It does,” you say, your voice gentle. “But maybe next time, start with something less…flammable?”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping back. “All right, teach me, master chef. How do we make the perfect peppermint hot chocolate?”

You laugh, handing him the whisk. “First, you don’t burn the chocolate. Now, stir the milk gently while I add the chocolate pieces.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, adopting a mock-serious tone as he starts whisking. His movements are a little overdramatic, and the milk splashes slightly, but it’s endearing.

“Gentle, Tony,” you say, biting back a smile as you add the chocolate. “This isn’t an arm workout.”

“Sorry, force of habit,” he quips, his grin unapologetic. “I’ve only got one speed: full throttle.”

The chocolate begins to melt, turning the milk a rich, velvety brown. Tony leans in closer, his expression a mix of curiosity and concentration. “Okay, this part’s kind of fun. It’s like alchemy.”

“Sure,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “The alchemy of not burning things.”

As the hot chocolate comes together, you grab a bottle of peppermint extract and hold it up. “Now for the magic ingredient. Just a couple of drops.”

Tony watches as you add the peppermint, the warm, sweet aroma filling the air. “Smells amazing,” he says, his tone genuine. “Almost makes up for the fact that I nearly burned down the apartment.”

“Almost,” you agree, giving the mixture one last stir before grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.

As you pour the hot chocolate, Tony wanders over to the counter, his movements casual—but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. Before you can question it, he points upward.

You follow his gaze and spot a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. “When did you—?”

“Earlier,” he says, his grin widening. “Figured it might come in handy.”

You shake your head, setting the mugs down and stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, you love me,” he replies, his voice softening as he leans in.

You meet him halfway, his lips warm against yours despite the cold air outside. It’s a sweet, lingering kiss, and when you pull back, his eyes are brighter than the Christmas lights strung around the room.

“Mistletoe is definitely your best idea today,” you say, your voice teasing but full of affection.

“Better than cremated chocolate?” he asks, feigning surprise.

“Much better,” you reply, laughing as you hand him his mug. “Now, let’s see if this is worth the trouble.”

The two of you settle on the couch, blankets draped over your legs as you sip the hot chocolate. It’s rich and creamy, with just the right hint of peppermint, and you can’t help but sigh in contentment.

“This is perfect,” you say, leaning your head against his shoulder. “See what happens when you let me help?”

He nudges you playfully, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Okay, okay, I admit it. You’re the hot chocolate queen. But next year, I’m making it on my own. No supervision.”

“You’re never living this down, Tony,” you reply, grinning up at him. “But nice try.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas, troublemaker.”

“Merry Christmas,” you reply softly, the snow falling outside and the warmth of his arms making it the perfect end to the day.

The apartment is quiet save for the crackling of the fireplace video looping on the TV and the faint hum of Christmas music in the background. The room is bathed in a soft, golden glow from the tree lights, the perfect backdrop for the growing pile of wrapping paper at your feet. It's Christmas morning, and for the past half-hour, you and Tony have been exchanging gifts, both of you trying (and mostly failing) to keep your emotions in check.

Tony’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing the pajamas you picked out for him—flannel pants and a red shirt that says “Official Cookie Tester.” His hair is a mess from sleep, and he looks so boyishly excited every time he hands you a new box that you can’t help but fall a little more in love with him.

Your own pile of gifts so far includes a pair of earrings that match the necklace he got you last year, a first edition of your favorite book, and a framed photo of the two of you from your first vacation together, one of his rare sweet gestures that never fail to make your heart swell.

“Okay, your turn,” you say, handing him a flat, rectangular box with a silver bow.

He narrows his eyes at it playfully, shaking it gently. “Feels suspiciously light. Did you get me socks?”

“I’d never waste good wrapping paper on socks,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “Just open it.”

He flashes you a grin before tearing into the paper, his eyebrows shooting up when he sees what’s inside. It’s a custom leather-bound notebook embossed with his initials—a thoughtful, elegant gift you’d spent weeks planning.

“I know you’ve been sketching a lot lately,” you explain, watching his face closely. “I figured you could use something a little more…official.”

Tony runs his fingers over the cover, and for a moment, he’s completely silent. Then he looks up at you, his expression soft and unguarded. “It’s perfect,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “Seriously. Thank you.”

You smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

He clears his throat, a telltale sign he’s feeling emotional, and sets the notebook carefully aside before grabbing a box from behind him. “All right, your turn,” he says, handing it to you with a slightly smug expression. “Let’s see if I can top that.”

You laugh, untying the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in velvet, is a delicate bracelet inlaid with tiny gemstones, each one sparkling in the light. It’s understated but stunning—classic Tony.

Your breath catches as you lift it out of the box, and you glance up at him. “Tony, this is—”

“—just a little something,” he interrupts, brushing off your awe with a wave of his hand. “Figured you could use more jewelry to match your impeccable taste.”

You set the bracelet down carefully and throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I love it.”

He hugs you back, his hand warm against your back. “Love you more,” he murmurs, and for a moment, the world shrinks to just the two of you.

When you pull back, you swipe at your eyes, laughing softly. “Okay, before I cry and ruin the moment, I think it’s time for the last gifts.”

“Ah, the pièce de résistance,” Tony says, his grin returning as he reaches for a small, sloppily wrapped box on the coffee table. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You hand him a box of your own, equally poorly wrapped, and exchange a knowing look. “You first,” you say, gesturing to his gift.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He rips into the paper with an enthusiasm usually reserved for high-stakes projects, and when he finally pulls out the contents, he freezes. His hand lifts the small ceramic frog in a Santa hat—the one you’d teased him about at the Christmas market.

“No way,” he says, his voice full of disbelief.

“Way,” you reply, biting back a grin. “I couldn’t let Frank the Frog end up in someone else’s house. He belongs with us.”

Tony stares at the frog, and for a moment, you think he might actually tear up. Then he looks at you, shaking his head with a mix of laughter and affection. “You are ridiculous,” he says, but his voice is thick with emotion. “I can’t believe you bought this.”

“Well, I knew you’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

He sets the frog carefully on the coffee table, like it’s a priceless artifact, and then leans over to kiss you, his lips warm and lingering. “You’re the best,” he whispers. “Seriously. This might be the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you reply, though your cheeks flush at his words.

“Your turn,” he says, gesturing to the box in your lap. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”

You laugh, unwrapping the box, and the moment you see what’s inside, your laughter turns to a choked gasp. It’s the snow globe from the Christmas market—the one with the tiny snow-covered village you couldn’t stop staring at.

“You didn’t,” you say, your voice wavering.

“I did,” he replies, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “Figured if I couldn’t have Frank the Frog, the least I could do was make sure you got this.”

You lift the globe out of the box, turning it over to watch the snow swirl inside. It’s just as beautiful as you remembered, and the thoughtfulness of his gesture makes your chest ache in the best possible way.

“Tony…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

“Don’t start crying,” he warns, though his own eyes are suspiciously bright. “You’re gonna set me off.”

You laugh wetly, shaking your head as you set the snow globe on the coffee table next to the frog. “I can’t believe we both bought the stupid things.”

He laughs too, leaning back against the couch with an incredulous shake of his head. “We’re a mess.”

“A perfect mess,” you correct, leaning against him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “Agreed. And now Frank and the snow globe can live happily ever after. A Christmas miracle.”

You snort, burying your face in his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replies, his voice smug but affectionate.

You glance up at him, smiling despite yourself. “Yeah, I do.”

He leans down, kissing you softly, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. When he pulls back, he grins. “Best Christmas ever?”

“Best Christmas ever,” you agree, snuggling into his side as the snow falls softly outside, and the room fills with laughter and love.

[hurtspideyparker]

What do you think about Marvel's move bringing back RDJ but now as Dr. Doom. I just wondered how this would affect Peter...

At first I was like OH MY GOD ROBERT DOWNEY JR. because I just adore! him! And of course I would love him back in Marvel, cuz I'm a sap and RDJ as Tony Stark revolutionized superhero cinema. Also "new mask same task" and striking the Tony Stark T pose? Legendary stuff.

Then I actually thought about the implications and the character, and I'm just not a fan. Bringing Downey back as anyone but Tony Stark is really weird, and doesn't make sense. Feels like an insane Tony Stark+Dr. Doom plot, which they made up just to get RDJ back cuz he's the money maker. Plus Dr. Doom deserves a new unique actor, especially a Romani one. I do love Dr. Doom as an MCU villain though, if he is cast properly. If they were gonna bring a Tony variant into the MCU make him a TONY variant, using Dr. Doom isn't it. Although under different circumstances I'd love to see more of RDJ as an antagonist, he's an incredible actor (his 1998 film US Marshalls started a fire in me for him to play more villains).

ANYWAYS - ignoring all the negative stuff, let's talk about Peter Parker!

I'd like to imagine a scene where Peter is fighting Doom - he's using his usual quips, being silly. He thinks it's just another day, another villain. Doom is incredibly strong and it's a tough fight, but Peter just manages the perfect hit to tear Doom's mask off.

Then he hesitates.

While scarred and cruel, the sight is still unmistakably familiar.

"Tony?"

Doom doesn't waver, he strikes Peter with deadly and immediate force in his moment of weakness.

Peter goes flying backwards, smashing through glass and brick.

He's hurt, badly, lying still on the floor beneath Doom. Bloody and torn Doom leaves him there, a pitiful and easily distracted kid. He doesn't know what he said, nor does he care. Von Doom just squashed a bug.

Left alone, Peter suffers from the ache in his body, the hit to his ego, and the biggest question - what did he see?

He questions whether he was drugged, or having a stress-induced hallucination. It doesn't make any sense for this to catch up to him in the middle of a battle. That's usually when he's most focused and level headed.

Sure, he used to see Mr. Stark. In billboard models with goatees, in the kind smile of a professor, in the corner of his eye when walking down the street. He never thought it was really him though, and it's been years since he's been struck so painfully with memories of his old mentor.

This, this is completely different. He stared right at Tony's face as clear as day.

Maybe Peter drags himself to the nearest hero. Still bloody and bruised, but he has to tell someone what he saw. Who is there? Who can he call? Hawkeye? Bruce Banner? Daredevil? They may not know Peter Parker, but he's still Spider-Man. He has a big name, and I'm curious who's taken notice.

Personally, I'd kill to finally get a Spider-Man and Fantastic Four team up in theatres. With the FF movie coming out and Doom being a big nemesis to the team I'm really hoping we get some Fantastic Four and Avengers interactions.

Anyways. Peter warns them, or does research on his own. He obsesses over this Doctor Doom.

Fast forward, maybe Doom and Peter work together against another evil, or Doom's own invention. Or maybe they're just near each other enough to get to know one another.

Doom and Stark do have some things in common, and I think that would strike a chord in Peter. Doom is an intellectual, a scientist, he's a self-absorbed perfectionist.

Doom commends Peter on his genius, his capabilities. Offers him a deal to join him and put his brain to good use. It would hit too close to home for Peter. A kid who wanted nothing more than to be like Tony Stark, to be strong and intelligent. To have his old mentor look at him and acknowledge his effort.

It messes with Peter's head and brings up his unresolved issues with Tony. It makes him sick.

Peter Parker got erased, and now it's like he's reliving his youth and trauma in some twisted and dark remake.

Maybe there's something bigger at play here. Maybe someone is haunting him, torturing him.

Laughing at him.

[ask-sketch-and-pals]

C: "Dammit Sketch! Cant you use the doors like everyone else?!" S: "It's quicker like this"

[zvdvdlvr]

i’ve been rewatching ncis lately and was wondering if you go do some fluff for ziva x reader? maybe a little bit of angst idk sorry i don’t have anything specific 😭😭 but i absolutely love your page and your writing!!!!

⎯ ❝ what i want to hear ❞ | ziva david

✰ - synopsis :: ziva messes up and needs to apologize to her beloved girlfriend.

✰ - warnings :: female reader, reader is gibbs’s daughter, r doesn’t work at ncis, angst to fluff >:p

✰ - k.j.’s diary says... sorry abt photos i cant really find any that mach the aesthetic i was going for.

“Please, y/n, for all of us: take Ziva back,” Tony pleaded, on the phone. “She keeps looking at the phone and is all nervous and keeps looking up whenever the elevator dings. I’m actually begging you right now to answer her calls.”

McGee nodded from his desk. “It’s even got Giibbs a little worried.”

Your sigh crackled through the phone. “No. I see no point. If she truly feels remorse for what she said, she’ll tell me in person.”

Tony whined and leaned back on his chair, frustrated with both of his best friends.

“I have to go because unlike you, I do my job,” y/n quipped. “I’ll talk to you, Tim, and Jethro later. Bye!”

Tim and Tony echoed their goodbyes and hung up. Ziva had her hands on her head and was clearly thinking back to the conversation from about 24 hours ago.

“You okay over there Ziva?” McNosy asked from his desk.

“I do not know why she is upset! I answered her question and now she is upset at me!” Ziva burst out, her eyes getting that ’I love her but how the hell do I fix this’ look.

“Sometimes you just gotta tell ‘em what makes ‘em happy,” Tony shrugged.

Nodding, Tim agreed. “For the first time in his life Tony’s right. Tonight go pick up some flowers and sit down with y/n and apologize for what you said.”

“I just told her the truth!” Ziva defended.

Gibbs scoffed as he rounded the corner. “If I know my kid, David, you better tell her what she wants to hear before she pulls the cold shoulder.”

Sighing, Ziva went back to typing reports on her computer while thinking about what she would say to you tonight. She knew the guys were right, she had to tell you want you wanted to hear.

𓇽 - time skip

“Hello my love,” Ziva greeted from the table of your apartment.

You shrugged your coat of without looking her way.

“y/n, please hear me when I say that I’m sorry for what I said.”

Once again, you don’t acknowledge her as you turn to the fridge to grab the pasta that Rossi had given you on your most recent visit. You scoop some spaghetti into a bowl and place it into the microwave.

“I realize now that what I said hurt you and I’m willing to make up for what I said,” Ziva spoke. She wrapped her arms around your stomach and leaned into your back.

“So then say it, Ziva,” you say quietly.

“I… I would love you as a worm. I would make a little container with soil and leaves and flowers you like and carry you around with me everywhere. I’d love you if you were a moth, black widow, pirhannah, australian hissing cockroach, or a rabid wolf. I promise.” Ziva’s words were like the most beautiful song you’d ever head, playing your heartstrings like a cowboy playing a harmonica.

“You, Ziva David, are a goddamn sap,” you coo, turning in her arms to embrace her. “I love you too. I’d make a greenhouse just for you if you were a worm.”

Ziva laughed and pressed kisses up and down y/n’s neck. “I do not doubt that, my love.”

As Ziva clung to y/n, a dopey smile pulled at her lips. She really did love this woman… even if she became a worm.

[pandagirl45]

Tony and Bucky are the couple that would binge watch television shows and movie franchises. Tony would work during that but he would cackle at some of the movies.

Bucky and Tony would visit the cat shelter as Bucky cries happily with all the cats on him. Tony has a photo collection of Bucky covered in cats.

Tony and Bucky ends up going to nature reserves, Tony would document the plants and flora trying to help with planet saving projects. Bucky likes getting flower crowns.

Bucky and Tony take turns picking up their kids from school. Bucky is the scary parent. Tony is the parent the school doesn't want to come down (ultron, Morgan, and Anna Marie getting bullied, Tony is tiger parent).

Tony and Bucky rides together. Either Bucky gets lifted via Ironman suit or Tony rides with Bucky on the bike. (Tony likes riding with Bucky because he can tease him)

Bucky and Tony dance together whenever they can. They are gross like that. Tony also likes seeing Bucky in suits or semi formal. Bucky like Tony in clothes.

Tony and Bucky pet names (nicknames), for Tony he calls Bucky, frosty, silver laelaps, snow, buck-a-boo, winter wonderland, snow wolf, winter, nivi lupu (literally snow wolf, but tony is a sap). Bucky calls Tony, kitten, fe, kitt, doll, sunshine, (he won't say out loud because he'd blush) priceless, jewel, starlight.

Bucky and Tony will in fact have date nights at home because people are just to much.

[annachum]

Angel Dust and Husk's first date

. A month after Loser Baby, Husk and Angel are just chit chatting at the bar late at night, when Husk said, ' Hey, uh....you free tomorrow night? '

Angel : * heart drops, knowing where this is going * I'm off tomorrow all day....why?

Husk : I'd like to take you to this fancy Italian restaurant down the street tomorrow night. Food and drink on me....if that's what you like.

Angel : Are you.....are you asking me on a date, Husky? * heart eyes *

Husk : Well, yeah, I mean, for the past 4 months we met, I came to.....* face blushes * Fuck, I really like ya a lot, kid, okay? And you deserved to be treated real nice -

Angel : * kisses Husk on rhe nose * Pick me at 6pm, handsome. And don't be late. * Saunters off * I'll see ya tomorrow night, Husky Poo.

Husk : Night, Tony. * once he left * ( grumbles ) Ughhhh, WHY have I become such a sap.

. Later in Angel's room

Angel Dust : * on the phone with Cherri * CHERRI, WE ARE SO GONNA SHOP AT THE SIN CITY MALL FIRST THING TOMORROW MORNING. ADDING A SPA TOO.

Cherri : Why? What's the event?

Angel : HUSKY JUST ASKED ME OUT!!!

Cherri and Angel : * excited screaming *

. The next day at morning Cherri and Angel meet up at a SIN City Cafe for a pancake breakfast before going on a full day shopping and spa spree

. Cherri being a good sister figure helped Angel pick out a best date night outfit possible

. After lunch at a salad place, they treated themselves to a spa afternoon before heading back to Angel's room for a date night

. Later that evening, with Husk in a fancy black and gold suit waiting for Angel, he looked up and jaws hit the floor at Angel sauntering down the stairs to Jessica Rabbit's theme ( he played the music ) in a scintillating fuschia backless dress, white gloves and black boots, with pearls head to toe.

. Husk : Woah.....* hands Angel a bouquet of pink roses he picked out from Rosie's Emporium with some help from Alastor, Rosie and Nifty, who practically frogmarched Husk to Cannibal Town for a date night fit and such earlier that day * You look beautiful, Tony. * kisses Angel's hand *

Angel : * blushes * Awwww. What a gentleman. Shall we go?

Husk : Mmhmm. * offers a hand, to which Angel intertwines it *

. La Gondolia was one of the swankiest Italian joints in Pentagram City, and when Angel and Husk showed up there by Charlie's red limo, the ambience of the restaurant, combined with a live jazz band and fancy waiters serving up silver trays of food, instantly gave Angel flashbacks of the fancy eating outs he had with his parents and siblings growing up

. They got themselves a reserved table, and they thoroughly enjoyed a 4 course meal while sipping wine

. The wine made both of them losen up their nerves. Soon, they started exchanging inside jokes in Italian

. They ordered a 4 course set which consists of shrimp and cherry tomato bruschetta with green goddess soup, mozzarella ravioli in pumpkin sauce for Angel and spinach lasagna for Husk, and then Bistecca alla Fiorentina for both, and milk Gelato with honey and olive oil for desert

. And then before desert, Husk led Angel Dust to the dance floor and they did a romantic slow dance to the live band's cover of ' Something Stupid '

. Eventually, Husk footed the whole bill ( even tho Angel never asked of it ), to which Angel is impressed by the gallant gesture

. After the dinner

Angel : I really enjoyed the date, Husky....thanks. * smiles *

Husk : * smiles tenderly * Glad you enjoyed it, kid. Charlie ain't wrong when she recommended me this place.

The rain starts to pour

Angel : Shit, I forgot my umbrella. The weather forecast didn't really say there is gonna be rain....

Husk : Don't worry, Tony. I got us an umbrella at the limo. So it should come around any minute now. * pause * Can I....uh....kiss you while we are waiting for the limo?

Angel : Oh, suga, * bats eyelashes * You already have me at hello

. Husk wraps his strong arms around Angel, flapped his wings a bit higher to his height...and slowly, tenderly pressed his lips to Angel's

. The first kiss feels like a wonderful somersault, as tongues began battling for dominance. Things are starting to get a bot heated when the limo arrived

. Husk : Oh, great, limo's here.

Angel : * chuckles * Wanna continue at the back?

Husk : * laughs * Lemme get the umbrella, baby. * scoots in the limo, comes out with a spare umbrella, then takes off his tuxedo coat and wrap it around Angel as he escorted Angel back in *

. Once in there, the 2 began making out and cuddling tenderly to soft romantic music as the rain poured outside

. Once back at the Hotel, Angel Dust and Husk are laughing and talking as Husk escorted Angel back to his room

. Angel grabbed Husk by the collar and kissed him passionately, and with a big grin, he grooned, ' Buona noche, kitty. ' And wjth a wink, he goes back to his room

. Husk was in a daze as he sauntered back to his room, humming Singing in the Rain to himself

. Next day at breakfast all their friends are so happy when Husk and Angel announced they are an item!!

🤩🤩🤩🥺

[sapitties]

tony was kind of introduced to us in the same way id imagine sapnap would reveale his boyfriend for the first time kinda shows up out of nowhere with a vague explanation of who he is flirts with sap who's non the wiser and every few months we just randomly get new information like knowing tony is a friend from texas or him helping with saps streams behind the scenes

[buckyshairstylist]

Can I request morning cuddles with tony stark and fem reader? Sleepy tony is so cuteeee

Hi anon! Thank you so much for this request!! I love sleepy Tony. I hope you like it!

Sleepy Snuggles

Tony Stark x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tony wants cuddles the minute he wakes up. You gladly oblige.

CW: not proofread. none. fluff, mentions of Tony being an adventure, pet names

WC: 897

It was rare that you woke up with Tony still in bed. The rarest occasions were when you woke up with Tony still sleeping in your bed, but you never complained on the occasions you were blessed to witness sleepy Tony. It didn’t happen often, what with his nightmares and his incessant insistence that tinkering until he literally passed out helped, but when it did happen, you loved every second of it.

This morning happened to be one of those occasions. You’d managed to persuade Tony to go to bed at the same time you did the night before, mumbling an excuse about watching a movie with him. After you’d both changed into your pajamas and settled into bed, he put on a movie that you managed to watch half of before dozing off, your head comfortably pillowed on his bare chest.

You awoke on your side of the bed, facing away from him. It wasn’t shocking, really, as you had been known to toss and turn on occasion. Tony paid it no mind, as you dealt with him thrashing when he had a nightmare, and he usually just moved you to your side of the bed.

Turning over to face him, you found that he was still sleeping. You wished you could always see him as peaceful as he was while he slept, but you knew it wouldn’t happen. Not with him being Iron Man and an Avenger. No, his life simply wouldn’t allow it.

Tony groaned and stirred, somehow moving closer to you, his arm lazily draped over your waist. You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped, running your fingers through his hair.

“Mm… baby?” he mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Right here, Tones.”

He scooted closer, shoving his face into the juncture where your neck and shoulder met.

“Stay?” Tony asked softly, his voice raspy and slightly deeper than usual.

“Always.”

“Y’ promise?”

It was odd to hear him so vulnerable. Tony was a lot of things, but vulnerable was not one of them.

“I promise, baby,” you assured him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Tony sighed in contentment, his arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you closer to him.

Resigning to your fate, you ran a hand up and down his back, the other lightly scratching his scalp. Tony hummed, tilting his head upward slightly.

“There’s those pretty brown eyes,” you smiled at him, using the hand that was rubbing his back to caress his face. Tony smiled sleepily, leaning into the touch. “Why are you up so early?”

He shrugged. He wasn’t even sure what time it was; all Tony knew was that you were still in bed and he wanted cuddles. He gently grasped your wrist, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand before releasing it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his hand moving to cup your face. “My favorite person.”

“You’re so sappy when you’re sleepy,” you giggled, blushing.

“You’re deflecting. You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

The blush deepened. Tony grinned, happily pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Sap,” you mumbled, earning a giggle from Tony.

“Only for you, dear.”

Tony shifted, burying his face in your chest. You huffed a laugh, allowing him to get as close as humanly possible, your legs intertwined. He sighed contentedly, one hand resting on your hip while the other wrapped around you, lazily tracing his fingertips along your back. You hummed, tilting your head downward, letting your head rest against his hair.

“I could get used to this,” he mumbled. “I think I am.”

“Good.”

“Good?” His brows furrowed.

“Maybe you’ll sleep more if I promise to cuddle you first thing in the morning.”

Tony laughed. “I don’t know about that, honey. But I’m not opposed to cuddles every morning.”

You chuckled. Sure, Tony might have been a chronic insomniac that only slept after he collapsed from exhaustion, but he would never miss the opportunity for cuddles. If you could find a way to get him to sleep more while bribing him with cuddles, it would be a win-win situation.

“Stop thinking about how you can bribe me with cuddles.”

“Wha—I would do no such thing!” you spluttered, much to his amusement.

“You would. And while I’m flattered that you care so much you’re willing to bribe me, I am fine, honey.”

“You don’t sleep enough, Tony,” you sighed. “I worry about you.”

“And I worry about you, but I’m not gonna bribe you to sleep.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “No, you’d just create a protocol where Friday is required to tell you how much I sleep, and then you’d pester me about it until I started sleeping right.”

“I would do no such thing.”

“You definitely would.”

Tony giggled at the accusation, snuggling closer (if that was even possible). You said nothing as you played with his hair, basking in the comfortable silence that had fallen around you. Tony was happy — half-asleep, maybe, but he was happy, and that made you happy.

“Baby.” Tony murmured.

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

You smiled, planting a kiss on top of his head. “I love you, Tony.”

“Don’t move?” he requested, moving just enough that he could look up at you. “You don’t have anything to do?”

“Nothing,” you assured him.

“Mmm… good. Cuddle with me all day.”

You huffed in amusement, letting him snuggle close again.

“Whatever you say, babe.”